


Doodle Date

by RobanCrow



Category: Shall We Date?: Wizardess Heart+
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 17:17:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4885171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobanCrow/pseuds/RobanCrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Azusa discovers that Morgan can draw. He can't draw, but since Morgan won't draw him, he draws them instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doodle Date

Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the boughs above them. Morgan sank into Azusa’s lap. It had become the most natural thing, to share the stump and some peace and quiet in the Northern Valley Forest.

“What the heck have you got in here? Bricks?” Azusa grasped at Morgan’s handbag and lifted it from between them with feigned strain.

Morgan grabbed for the bag, but their reach didn’t compare to his as he held it away. “Textbooks.”

“You don’t need to bring textbooks out here, stupid.”

“And a novel and stuff.” Morgan leveled a glare at Azusa, sticking their tongue out at him.

The moment their tongue retreated, he planted a kiss in its place.

“And anyway,” Morgan huffed, ignoring the pink filling their cheeks and the smug grin in front of them. “Who came to get me right after class, idiot?”

“You could have left them in your desk.”

Morgan glared, the pink growing redder, and Azusa’s grin darkened. They turned about in his lap and faced away.

Azusa leaned against their back. “It isn’t really textbooks–” Morgan’s heart leaped at the shock of his hot breath on their ear. “–is it?”

Morgan covered their face with their hands, muttering, “Shut up.”

Azusa wrapped his arms around Morgan and set the bag on their lap. “So are you gonna show me what’s in there?”

“Nope.”

Azusa buried his face in the ends of Morgan’s hair. Their nape prickled with goosebumps where his lips touched, again and again, traveling slowly upwards. Morgan squirmed against his hold, shrugging away before he could reach the shell of their ear.

“I think you should show me,” he insisted.

“I think n–ah!”

Azusa’s fingers crawled beneath the hem of Morgan’s top, gingerly grazing whatever skin they could reach. Morgan writhed. Their handbag went crashing to the ground. A squeak escaped their throat when the chill of his fingers brushed against their belly, and they fervently grasped at his arms to pull them away.

“Stop!”

Azusa redoubled his grip on Morgan without regard for how far up his hands had wandered. “Will you show me now?”

“I’ll headbutt you now if you don’t let me go!”

“I’ll take my chances,” he said, his devilish smile not lost in his voice.

With an indignant huff, Morgan crossed their arms and sulked.

Gradually, Azusa’s hold eased. He rested his chin on Morgan’s shoulder. Morgan lay their head back against him, too, unfolding their arms and grudgingly relishing in the reprieve.

It grew too quiet. Morgan’s ears were ringing. Azusa’s arms closed firmly around them again, this time squeezing earnestly. It kept him still but failed to hide the shudder underlying his breaths.

Fearing Azusa’s thoughts had drifted to darker places, Morgan answered, “It’s a sketchbook.”

“Huh?”

“In my bag,” they clarified, “a sketchbook and pencil case.”

“Now you have to show me,” Azusa stated, though he made no effort to release Morgan.

Morgan peeled his arms away, not meeting much resistance, and got up to collect their handbag. After popping the buckles and rummaging about inside, they pulled out the book and inspected its cover. With a shrug, they passed it to Azusa and mumbled, “It’s just doodles.”

He smiled briefly, turning over the cover and glancing at the pages.

“There’s not much in it, either,” Morgan added dismissively. They knelt over their bag and arranged its jumbled contents back into place. The textbooks, a novel, a clipboard, and a thick tin case filled with pencils and held together with a hairband.

Azusa stopped on a scene, a student with pigtails sitting at her desk with her head resting in her arms. She was sound asleep. “Who is she?”

“Just a girl in my class.”

“You were drawing in class?” Azusa snickered.

“What! I finished my homework; I had time,” Morgan grumbled. “It was too early to wait for you.”

He turned the page again, and found the next one blank. He flipped quickly through the remaining pages. There was nothing more. “You weren’t kidding, there really isn’t much in here.”

“I just got it in town the other day.”

“We should fill it,” Azusa concluded.

“We?” Morgan asked, eyeing him skeptically. “You draw?”

Azusa shook his head and handed the sketchbook back to them. “No, but you could draw me.”

Morgan frowned. “I’m not gonna draw you.”

“Fine,” he said. He snatched the sketchbook back. “I’ll draw you, then.”

“But you just said you can’t draw.”

“I can’t, but I’m going to,” he insisted. “Give me a pencil.”

“No.”

Seeing him reach for their bag, Morgan grabbed it and skipped back a step from the stump. Not missing a beat, Azusa pulled a pen from his pocket, grinning wickedly.

“Oh, come on!” Morgan whined.

He had already etched a few lines onto the page. They set their hands on their hips and waited. He wouldn’t spend more than a minute on it. They’d be surprised if it was the result of his scribbling was anything more than a glorified stick figure.

“What do you think?” he asked, turning the sketchbook to them and holding it up for them to see.

It was exactly what they had expected, with some vague likeness of their hair and uniform, and a grumpy expression. “Very nice, idiot,” they lied. “Now give me back my book.”

He held the sketchbook back in his lap. “I’m doing another one,” he declared.

Morgan rolled their eyes, shaking their head dismissively. _Riiiiip._ Their attention snapped back to the little devil in front of them. He held out a blank sheet from the back of the book, torn from the binding.

“Draw with me.”

Morgan snatched the paper away. “You didn’t have to tear it out!”

“Just shut up and draw.”

Morgan pressed their lips together. They strode back up beside Azusa, parked their rear with their back to his flank on the only available edge of the stump. With a hefty shove, they sent him sprawling to the ground.

“What was that for?” he spat.

Morgan glanced over their shoulder, a cheshire smile dividing their face clean in two. That was the only answer they deigned to give him.

Azusa sat up, brushing himself off, and resumed doodling. The wicked grin was gone, though the scowl in its place didn’t complement his features any better.

Morgan pulled the clipboard and pencils out of their handbag and set to drawing, too.

The quiet that overcame them was not as thick as earlier. The scritching of pencil and pen on paper, the quiet sighs, it was almost comfortable. Almost, as Azusa still held Morgan’s sketchbook hostage.

It was ten minutes later when Morgan hugged the clipboard in alarm. Azusa held the sketchbook in front of their face, his arms around them from both sides and his chest leaning against their back.

Morgan stared at the crude sketch in front of them. It wasn’t a stick figure. Stick figures didn’t have curves like that. Stick figures didn’t have a chest like that, either. Anomalies aside, the resemblance was still distinctly theirs.

They swatted at him with their clipboard. “What makes you think I look anything like that?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Azusa scoffed, flipping the page. On the next one was a masculine figure, and the most well-endowed Morgan had ever seen. Of course, still otherwise bearing their likeness. “Better?”

“No!” Morgan whacked him with the clipboard again.

They glared after him as he plopped back onto the ground behind them. That wicked grin had returned. Azusa flipped the page, and started anew. Morgan grudgingly did the same.

The next interruption came as less of a surprise. “Look,” Azusa said, sliding the sketchbook into their line of sight.

Morgan glanced at it beneath their work in progress – “Pfft!” – and promptly dropped the clipboard to cover their eyes.

“What do you think?” he asked, nudging them playfully.

“Azusa!” they squeaked between giggles.

He leaned closer, and drawled, “Do you _like_ it?”

“Why!”

“You _like_ it,” he whispered.

“Why would you do that!” Morgan shoved him away, but the sketchbook remained in their lap.

The alien figure stared up at them, with every detail of Morgan Azusa had bothered to put into everything else, but also with its seven extra eyes, and horns protruding from its head and shoulders, and tentacles for limbs.

It hadn’t occurred to Morgan until they returned to their work in progress that where the sketchbook now sat was where the clipboard should have been. They glanced under the sketchbook and around their feet, but where they ultimately found it should have been no surprise.

“You weren’t supposed to look,” they grumbled. “I wasn’t finished yet.”

Azusa’s attention was fixed on the drawing in his grasp. His lips pursed, but no words followed.

The shapes were imperfect, the eyes too big and the shoulders not nearly broad enough. But the likeness was uncanny. His brow knotted, and a lopsided smile stretched across his face. He laughed. The longer he looked at it, the more he could have been looking at his own reflection, the face of someone who had forgotten how to smile for too long and could no longer quite get it right.

He shoved the clipboard back atop the sketchbook in Morgan’s lap. He inched closer and reclined against their legs. He didn’t want to draw anymore, and Morgan had had enough for now, too. They folded the sketchbook shut around the clipboard and stuffed them both back into their handbag.

“I still look like an idiot,” Azusa muttered, his smile growing in spite of himself.

“Of course. You are an idiot.” Morgan curled an arm around his shoulders. “You’re my idiot.”


End file.
